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  Jan 2018 Leeann
Ira Desmond
I hope I die in summer

on a humid night
when the grass is yawning and stretching out
toward the moon,

and the frogs are croaking on
like a chorus of metronomes
as the last curls of life wisp away from my body,

a final reminder
that things and time
will continue beautifully,


without me.
Leeann Jan 2018
my words are stuck
in a box
my thoughts, my ideas, squared up
neatly into rectangles and angular shapes
trapped and docile

of this box


let my ideas flow and my mind run wild
let them gallop and scream and cry and laugh
so my thoughts will never stop

break me free from the monotony
of these cardboard wings
these steel appendages
these binding safety bars

let me OUT of this box

writer's block really *****
Leeann Jun 2017
you stole from me
what was offered
Leeann May 2017
like wet ink
across the sheets-
it spread
like a sigh:
Leeann Apr 2017
These words; they
tumble down into
strings and strings of spaghetti
and loop over here and there

They run around
and run amok
I see them everywhere
Leeann Mar 2017
The playground is getting dark
It's almost time to go
But finally I smile and lean my head back
And then I go and swing some more

I dangle from my neck
Swinging to and fro
Isn't this playground lovely?
I laugh and swing myself some more

I tighten the rope a little
There's still a short while to go
But better safe than happy
So off the shaky seat I go
Swinging to and fro

I hang from my rope
There's nothing left at all
There's a smile on my face
As you watch me
Swinging to and fro
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